I'll Be Seeing You REPOST
by ringaroundtherollins
Summary: Dean Ambrose is kidnapped by a deranged stalker, and Roman Reigns must save him before it's too late. Originally posted as a request, deleted for reasons and now reposted for different reasons. Ambreigns, slash and violence all implied. Language and such. One-shot.


The signs were there all along. He just hadn't registered them, or shrugged them off as nothing to be concerned about.

Rollins showed up everywhere Dean went. Well, of course he did. They were wrestlers, contracted superstars under the same company, serving the same boss. This was no cause for concern.

Rollins sent him frequent text messages, and he often found a missed call or two—or three or five or ten—on his phone after going without the device for a little while, such as during dinner or workouts. He'd scoffed. Rollins was desperate to have it all, wasn't he? Apologize with absolutely no sincerity, gain back all he had with the Shield, yet continue to work for the Authority because that was supposedly his one-way ticket to total stardom. Right. He _totally_ believed that one.

Then the more extreme signs. Rollins posting personal information about him on Facebook and Twitter. It helped fan their rivalry for the fans, sure, but did Seth feel it absolutely necessary to publish his greatest fears, his biggest turn-ons and turns-offs, for the entire WWE Universe to see? That was pushy, a bit irritating, but still nothing he was overly concerned with.

Seeing the Cadillac _everywhere_ now? That was a bit uncanny. A sure sign he was being stalked.

Dean saw it now again, tonight, ambling out of the Pepsi Center after a successful taping of Raw. Strangely enough, Seth hadn't been present for any matches. The main event had been John Cena versus some fella rising up from the NXT, something only a fraction of the audience had taken interest in. No Seth, no World Heavyweight Champion, no Money in the Bank contender tonight. It was a bit refreshing not to hear Seth's nasally voice prattle on for everyone to sneer at…but at the same time, uncanny.

Where was he?

Dean got his answer in that dark parking lot.

The Cadillac was parked in the same row as Dean's rental Chevy. He slowed his pace on the way to his car. Was it his? It sure looked like his…not that Dean had another choice. Everyone else was gone. Roman was unavailable, wanting to be seen by the medical staff before they packed up, regarding a back injury sustained earlier in the night by Bray Wyatt. As uneasy as Dean felt here, perhaps he was overreacting.

What would Rollins do to him, really? Dean was a fighter, a damn good fighter, swift and sharp and accurate with every motion. Rollins wasn't a fighter—he was a backstabbing weasel who walked away from challenges and boasted only by voice what kind of man he was, not backing it up by any sort of performance value.

Dean didn't need Roman. He didn't need protection. He could look after himself.

He made his way over to his car.

"Ambrose," the familiar voice barked in the night.

Dean spun around on his heel. There he was, the half-blonde, half-brunette douche bag who'd betrayed the Shield. Beaten him and Roman with a metal chair until they weren't standing. But he looked weary, weak, defeated about a fight he hadn't taken part in—not one Dean had seen, anyway.

"What?" Dean asked, keeping his guard on a steady rise.

"Hey, relax, Dean." Seth lifted two defensive hands. "I just want to talk. Is that alright? Can we talk?"

"No."

"Look, I've been trying to text you, call you, and you won't answer me."

Dean's mouth fell open in feigned shock. "Wow! It's almost like you're a total asshole and I don't want anything to do with you anymore!"

"I know what I did was wrong, Dean." Seth blinked, and a lone tear glided down his cheek. "But you've gotta believe me. It was all business. All for the company. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"How you feel ab—Rollins, don't feed me your bullshit, alright? What's done is done. Have a great time with the Authority, Roman and I are doing fine without you, _goodbye_."

Seth shook his head, blended brown and yellow locks swaying. "It was never _about_ Roman. It was about us. You know that. You and him, you hated each other. You couldn't stand each other. Always fighting, always bickering. You and me, we were the real team in there."

"Funny how things change," Dean stated.

"No…nothing's changed, Ambrose. _Nothing_." Seth stepped towards him, and Dean drew back equal distance.

"Rollins—"

"Dean, give me a chance, please…I love you so much, I always have, and I always will—" Seth raised his hands again, in a more menacing matter.

"Rollins, _stop_. Back off."

"Let me prove it to you," Seth hissed.

"Seth, STOP!" Dean had no choice but to defend himself against his former brother. He lunged at him, aiming for the center of mass to knock him off his feet, but Seth was ready for the attack and retaliated with a waiting arm. His foot flew off the ground, knee soaring up, striking Dean in the jaw. Dean buckled under the blow. Seth wrapped an arm around his throat, lifted him into the air, and choke-slammed him onto the gravely asphalt beneath his feet. Dean's head smacked against the hard ground, and he sank into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Looks like just a bruised bone," the standby practitioner said, returning to the examination room after a ridiculously long wait. "X-rays didn't reveal any fractures."

"Thank God," Roman said, casting out a breath. Injury or not, there was no way he was missing out on his rematch against Bray Wyatt on Thursday. He pushed himself off the exam table. "Is that it?"

"Should be it, but you're a wrestler. Never know what you're going to end up doing to your body." He offered a smile. "Just take it easy."

 _Yeah. Sure_. "Thanks, doc."

Dean hadn't texted him back yet. Roman had shot him off a message shortly before the exam began, then one expressing how bored he was stuck waiting, and how anxious he was to make Wyatt pay. No answer. Strange. Perhaps it was his own fault. He'd been the one to insist Dean return to the hotel, not feel obliged to wait on Roman.

"Hey, Reigns. You too, huh?"

Roman's head twisted and he saw Cesaro ambling towards him, arm in a sling, pathetic smile on his rounded face. He had fought against Sheamus earlier that night. He'd unfortunately tapped when Sheamus locked him in the Cloverleaf, but the arm injury had come long before that ending.

"Yeah. Just a bruised bone in my back. Nothing major."

"That's good. That Irish _hirsch_ did a number on me." Cesaro referred to the sling as evidence. "I'll get him back on Thursday."

"I'll be rootin' for ya."

"Appreciate it, buddy. Hey, not to sound too nosy or anything, but…is the Shield really getting back together?"

Roman would have burst into giggles if it wouldn't make him look like such an asshole. "No? What gave you that idea?"

Cesaro shrugged a shoulder—the one not currently fastened by a velcro-secured sling. "Seth was talking to a bunch of us backstage about it. Said he had some plan. Then I saw Ambrose talking to Rollins outside and figured the three of you were trying to work something out."

Roman blinked. Cocked his head. "You saw Dean and Seth outside? _Together_?"

Cesaro suddenly looked very apologetic for what he'd said. "Yeah. It didn't look bad…just that…they were, y'know, talking."

Roman licked his lips. "In the parking lot?"

"Yeah? Like I said, they weren't arguing or trying to off each other, just—"

Roman didn't know what words followed. Drawing his phone from his pocket—still no texts or calls from Dean—he darted down the backstage corridors and pushed through a side door, jogging around the massive athletic center towards the side lot where superstars parked their rentals, or taxi cabs dropped them off.

He found Dean in his contacts and pressed Send on the Call option.

The call rang— _where did Dean park_ —and rang— _his car isn't here_ —and rang— _surely I'd see it in this empty friggin' lot_ —and rang—

Dean's voice came through the voicemail message: "This is not a voicemail; this is a telepathic thought-recording device. After the tone, think about your name, your reason for calling, and a number where I can reach you and I'll think about returning your call."

For once, it didn't make Roman smile to hear it.

He sent another call. He jogged to the center of the parking lot. Same agonizing drawn-out rings. Same voicemail. He spun in a circle, eyes scanning helplessly for his and Dean's rental. He felt dizzy, sick, like his heart had been ripped out.

"Dean!" he cried out.

Nothing.

Nobody around.

The only evidence of Dean's existence was his prerecorded message: " _This is not a voicemail; this is a telepathic_ —"

"DEAN!" Roman hollered across the vacant lot.

* * *

Dean awoke in a cold sweat. His head burned where he'd taken a fall.

His sight returned to him slowly, blurry images sharpening the more he blinked, the more he concentrated. It was warm where he was, meaning this place was indoors somewhere. His memory returned to him with as much pain as he already felt physically in his head.

What had Rollins done to him?

He lifted his legs to move, walk, _something_ , and found they couldn't shift further than an inch or two into the air. He was lying flat on a soft surface. His arms were pulled out above him. He couldn't move those either.

A door creaked open. Dean blinked, eyes adjusting to the lack of light in this room. Seth wandered towards the foot of the bed. His eyes were cherry and soggy, the corners of his mouth sagging towards the floor, like he'd spent half the night crying and the other half drinking to keep him from crying anymore. Further proof of this theory was offered by the glass beer bottle that dangled loosely between his fingers.

He didn't look like any Seth Rollins Dean knew. Had _ever_ know.

Nervously, Dean tugged against his bondage. "Rollins, what the hell is this—"

"It's your homecoming," Seth said."Well, _my_ homecoming. I left, and now we're together again. Just you and me. Think of how perfect it will be." His speech was slurred, shambolic. Dean swallowed hard. How much _had_ he been drinking?

Though Dean couldn't exactly blame his behavior on alcohol alone.

Seth lowered himself onto the foot of the bed, between Dean's spread-eagle, tied-down legs. "We don't need anyone else, Dean. I promise. I'm all you'll ever need."

"You're acting like a fucking maniac—just let me go."

"No, Dean, that's the whole _thing_ I'm trying to _tell_ you." Seth let a tiny maniacal giggle slip past his pale lips. "I'm never letting you go again. It was a mistake to do it before, even if it was just for business, just for my job. I should have known better. Family comes first. And you're my family, Dean. You're everything to me."

A loud buzz intervened in his drunken dictation. Seth squinted in the dark, trying to locate the source. It came off to the side where Dean lay. Seth staggered in that direction and snatched a lit device from a side table. A phone, of course, and Seth was smiling at the glowing screen.

"It's Roman," he said, lips pursed. He set the phone back on the table, letting it ring on.

The very mention of Roman's name caused Dean to wrench against the bondage again, this time with more power, yet resulting in nothing. "When Roman finds out what you're doing, he's going to kill you."

"I'm sure he would, Dean. But that's the problem with Roman. He's so…so _in the way_. What good was he in the Shield, anyway? He couldn't speak very well, he was all brawn and no brain, and he only knew like, what, _four_ moves? If anyone should have left the Shield, it was him. See, me and you, we're like this tight team—"

The phone buzzed again. Dean threshed and floundered in the impressive bondage job like a fish trapped on a pier. Seth reached over and turned the phone off. Dean had never felt so helpless. Seth carried on as though he hadn't been interrupted.

"And together, we can't be stopped. So what do you say? Not that there's too much you _can_ say, regarding your current situation."

"You're insane!" Dean barked.

Seth's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. But nobody's perfect. Everyone makes mistakes, Ambrose, but we're all given a chance at redemption in life, and this is mine."

Seth raised the glass bottle above his head and swung it down, shattering it over Dean's skull. Dean screamed out at the blunt force trauma, fragments of glass tangling themselves in his hair, pressing against the skin to draw blood. He squeezed his eyes shut to protect them from harm.

He felt Seth grab hold of his arm. "I'm not going anywhere, Dean," he said, voice wavering from high to low, the voice of an angel to that of a demon. "I swear this time, I'm never going to let you go again."

* * *

" _Geez_ , Roman, what happened? You look like you've seen a ghost—"

"Dean's in trouble," Roman said, shoving past Cesaro on his hunt, this time with different quarry in mind.

Cesaro followed behind him. "What else is new?"

Roman glared down one hallway, to the left and to the right. Nobody. They had to be around here somewhere. They were always the last to leave, to ensure business was handled on every end and nothing was left unattended to.

"Is he hurt?" Cesaro queried, almost having to run to keep up with Roman.

"I don't know."

"Does this have to do with Rollins?"

Roman sighed, not wanting to have to explain himself. An explanation of what he was still uncertain of would be hard to believe, even for him. "Probably."

At last, Roman hung a right and found Triple H and Stephanie McMahon discussing something with one another. "Hey, sorry to interrupt"— _yes I am_ —"but I need to know where Rollins is staying tonight."

Triple H glanced up, dark eyes regarding Roman curiously. "How should we know?"

"He's like your fucking son or something, Hunter, don't you always know where he is?"

"Don't use that language with my husband, Reigns," Stephanie growled.

"I don't have time for a lecture, Steph. I need to know where he is."

"We don't know," Triple H stated with emphasis as though Roman had made him say it eleven times. "We don't keep tabs on the kid."

"Well, you better help me find out, because I think he kidnapped Dean."

"Ambrose?" Steph asked, surprised.

"No, Dean Winchester, Steph. _Yes_ , Ambrose," Roman growled. He peered back at Cesaro, his lawyer figure to present his evidence. Cesaro caught onto the role and cleared his throat.

"I, uh—saw them talking outside and, uh—Roman went to check on them, and they were gone."

"Rollins wasn't even here tonight," Stephanie tried.

"Yes, he was. When does Seth Rollins not show up at Raw? It doesn't matter if he's in a match or not; he's always around. He was talking to several of us backstage, telling us how the Shield's gonna reunite or something—"

Steph snorted. "Yeah, like _that's_ gonna happen—"

Roman pressed his face into hers so his breath was sure to be hot on her face. "Listen to me, McMahon. Right now, I don't give a shit about you, or your husband, or this company, or even my job. I give a shit about Dean. So you better find out where your boy is. 'Cause he's got mine."

Triple H pushed Roman's shoulder, urging him to back away from his wife. Stephanie was incredulous. With eyes full of panic, the panic of possibility that Roman was telling the truth, she said, "I really don't know where he is, but I can call him. Find out all I can."

"Good. I'll be waiting right here."

* * *

Dean had to keep him calm. Someone had to be coming for him eventually, right? Surely someone had become aware of his absence, executed a search for the vanished Lunatic Fringe…it was just a matter of time, yes, he told himself, battling the urge to break down in fear. _A matter of time, just keep him calm, keep yourself alive_ …

"Seth, why are you doing this?" Dean grunted. His throat was arid. He needed water, badly.

"What do you mean, why am I doing this to you, silly goose? You _know_ why." Seth rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. "I've missed you so much, and I want us to be together again."

"Is it just because you're trying to get back at Roman? Reprimand yourself for what you did to us? Or is it because…"

"Yes?" Seth asked, intrigued by whatever he was about to say. Dean couldn't believe he was even about to suggest it.

"Is it because…you've got these _feelings_ for me?"

Seth scoffed. "Feelings are a waste of time if they don't get you anywhere. That's why you act on the ones that get results."

"W—wh—" _Just say it. Don't have to mean it—just say it_. "What if…they _would_ get you somewhere? Wh—what if they were…reciprocated?"

Seth looked baffled. "That's one thing. But it's another thing if you're just talking shit to get me to feel bad."

"No, no, it's true. It's one of those things where, you never really thought about it, but once you _do_ think about it…you realize how much sense it makes. You ask yourself why you haven't been there the entire time." Dean's stomach twisted into knots. He couldn't believe he was feigning intimate sentiment for _Rollins_. "And why haven't we been there the entire time?"

Seth's nose twitched like a bunny's. He was no longer looking into Dean's eyes. "Well…because I turned on the—"

"No, no, it wasn't your fault. It's because of Roman." _I'm so sorry to throw you under the bus like this, Ro, but it's working. He can't hurt you, anyway. It's all on me_. "He kept two deserving people apart for such a long time, always picking fights with me, always interfering in _your_ matches. He's the real reason you left, isn't he? You didn't want to leave me, you didn't want what we had to disappear forever…but leaving him was a much easier decision to make. He's the one who was holding you back. He's the one causing you so much grief."

Seth took each breath in slower and deeper than the last. Dean couldn't believe it. _Is this working? Is he about to let me go_?

He couldn't get an answer, not yet. There came _another_ buzzing, from a different source—a different phone—because Dean's was still powered off.

Seth reached into his pocket and frowned at the screen. "Shit, I do need to take this one," he mumbled. Eyes squeezed shut, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, he answered, "Hey, Steph."

"Hey, Seth." She tried to keep her voice as light as possible so he wouldn't catch onto anything. Roman's eyes on her were daggers, cutting straight through. "Listen, Hunter and I are having some contract issues right now, and we need to have a discussion with you about it."

"Contract issues?" Seth glanced at a clock. "It's ten-thirty at night, Steph. Why are you and Hunter even awake still?"

"We've been swamped with paperwork all night. Some loophole someone pointed out, and they're trying to sue us—and you—for breach of contract or something?"

"That makes no sense."

"I know it doesn't, Seth, and I have a headache just looking at all this crap at my desk. Could you come meet with Hunter and me so we can get this resolved? Better yet, we'll come to you so you're not inconvenienced. Where are you at?"

"I'm a little busy right now, Steph. I'll deal with you in the morning."

"Seth—"

"This is literally the worst timing in the world for me right now, Stephanie. I will _call you_ in the _morning_."

Stephanie looked at Roman helplessly.

"Give me that," he muttered, snatching the phone from his manicured hand and pressing it to his own ear. "Listen to me, you son of a bitch."

"Roman?" Seth asked, astonished. Dean's eyes swelled out of their sockets.

"Where is he, Rollins?"

An uneasy smile was unfurling over Seth's face. He'd never looked so overjoyed in his life. It discomfited Dean. "Where's who?"

"You know damn well who, asshole. Where's Dean?"

"He's here with me, Roman. Where he belongs. Don't worry. He's safe."

Dean nearly laughed out loud hysterically. _Yeah! Safe! Sure_!

"Where are you?"

"Why do you want to know where I am? You want to come and play?" he asked, glancing at Dean. Dean's arms wrenched against the ropes. _No. No, no, no, don't bring him here. Don't come here, Roman_.

"I want to come and _kill_ you, and if you hurt him, I will kill you, revive you, and kill you again."

"He's very misbehaved, isn't he?" Seth asked Dean. "Doesn't play well with other children." Seth rattled off some address and told Roman, "Come and play, then. We'll be waiting for you."

"ROMAN, NO!" Dean screamed, but Seth hung up the call.

"Why? What's the matter?" Seth asked, eyebrow arched.

Dean swallowed hard. "I…I just don't want him around, is all. This is our time, not his."

"I know that, love. But he won't be able to resist chasing after you. You're sort of his prized possession. Once he gets here, I can assure you that he'll never get in the way of _us_ ever again. Isn't that what you were saying? He was always in the way, causing trouble, keeping us apart? Well, after tonight, he won't be anything of a burden."

 _Shit, oh shit. That fucking backfired so fucking badly. I need to get out of here, protect Roman, save myself_ —

* * *

"Got it." Roman shoved the phone back into Stephanie's hands. "I'll be back."

"I'm coming with you," Cesaro offered, but Roman lifted a hand.

"Sorry, but this is something I need to do on my own. It's personal."

"You should be calling the police," Stephanie stammered.

"And what? Get Dean's head cut off or heart shot? I don't know what Rollins is capable of. I don't know anything about their situation. If I do anything other than show up like I said I would, it's bad news for Dean."

"You're insane."

"Yeah. So I've heard."

Roman ignored any further pleas and rushed outside, to his car, into the driver's seat. He roared the engine to life and peeled out of the parking lot. _Hold on, Dean. I'm coming for you_.

* * *

Dean didn't know how much time he had.

He assumed it wasn't a lot.

"Rollins—Seth—you're going about this the wrong way," he tried.

"What are you talking about? This is perfect." Seth sat beside him, running his fingers through Dean's messy hair. "Eliminating Reigns for good, nobody there to take you away from me?"

"Because you told him where we were." His head was throbbing. Blood clotted on his scalp. "This is our chance to just…run. Run, and go away, and never come back. Think about it. We don't need the WWE. We don't need fans. All we need is what we have: each other." He was cringing, making himself sick by his own talk. "And that's what counts."

"You're right, my love, you're right." Was it him, or was Seth's mental state deteriorating? "First we'll get rid of Reigns. Then we'll run away together."

"We don't need to kill Reigns." Dean tried to steady his voice.

"Of course we do. You were right—I shouldn't have been punished for leaving the Shield when it was Roman all along causing trouble."

Dean found it difficult to keep up this act. He was moments away from abandoning it altogether and begging Rollins not to hurt Roman…that Dean would do anything if it meant keeping Roman alive and well…

"Let me off this bed, Seth. Let me…let me _show_ you how much I love you."

"Oh, Dean," Seth cooed. "There's no need. You can show me right where you are."

Seth wrapped his fingers in the belt loops of Dean's pants.

Dean started trembling as what was on Seth's mind dawned on him. "Seth?"

"Yes?" he sang, giving the fabric a tug. His waistline was exposed.

"Seth, no, no, no. Not yet. I—it's too fast. Too fast." He couldn't get the words out fast enough.

"We've been waiting for this for _such_ a long time."

Dean tried pressing his ass into the bed to make the removal of his pants tricky, but Seth was strong. In the next blink of his eyes, Seth had the pants down to his ankles, the material stretched given the spread position of his legs.

"Oh _my_ ," Seth breathed. Dean's face burned crimson as Rollins drank in the sight of his naked bottom half. "You don't look half-bad, Dean. Not at all."

"Seth, p-please. Please d-d-don't do this."

"And why not? You love me, right? Don't you want me to be happy?" Seth lowered his hand towards Dean's member. "I want to make _you_ happy."

This couldn't go on. Dean had to tell the truth. "Rollins, _no_ , I don't love you, okay? You're a fucking crazy-ass psychopath. I'm not yours to own, Roman and I fucking _hate_ you for what you did to us, and when he gets here he's going to destroy you."

Seth pursed his lips, absorbing the truth—if there was ever a moment he believed Dean's words to be sincere. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I won't let anyone take you away from me. And that includes him." He lifted from the bed, just for a moment, to tug off his own pants. His cock was hard and anxious. Seth began playing with himself as he lowered once more at Dean's side.

"DO NOT TOUCH ME!" Dean screamed, thrashing against his bondage. Had it loosened at _all_ , given the work he'd done on it?" Surely…surely there was slack, weakness in the material somewhere… "DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!"

"If it really makes you _this_ upset," Seth said, pushing Dean's hair from his sweating forehead, "then close your eyes and pretend it's Roman."

"SETH! DO _NOT_! DON'T YOU _DARE_!"

A loud crash broke through Dean's cries, that smirk on Rollins's face dropping. "Dammit," he said, fumbling to replace his boxer shorts. "Would have been better if he were a little too late…"

"Dean?" Roman's unmistakeable voice called.  
"Ro!" Dean screamed. Then, truly understanding the severity of the circumstances, blubbered, "Don't come in here, Roman, don't, it's not—"

Roman kicked the bedroom door off its hinges. Seth stood with his arms open wide, _welcoming_ Roman to his scene. Roman's face lost its color at the sight of a half-naked Dean tied down to a bed, a noticeably erect Seth standing above him.

"Roman, Roman, Roman," Seth said. "I bid you welcome, old friend."

"Jesus _Christ_ , Rollins, I didn't think you were capable of such—"

"If you came here for Ambrose, Reigns, I've some bad news. He's not going anywhere. He is _mine_."

"Did he hurt you?" Roman growled to Dean, fingers wiggling at his side, eyes not leaving Seth once.

Dean whimpered, "Smashed a bottle over my head…almost fucking raped me…"

"You son of a bitch," Roman whispered, his own anger warming the entire room.

Seth just chuckled. "Something, something, something, people do crazy things when they're in love. Come on, you can't tell me this…" Seth waved an arm towards Dean, "isn't on your top-ten fantasies list."

Roman let out a roar and Speared Seth to the carpet.

Seth was quick to defend himself, even slightly intoxicated, even deranged. He jabbed Roman thrice in the head with a clenched fist. Roman gained a hold of Seth's arms and pinned them to the floor, then head butted Rollins. Seth brought his legs up and shoved Roman off with his feet. Roman flew up, nearly landing on his feet with grace but stumbling back. Seth was quick to his feet. He rushed at Roman with a flailing arm. Roman had a fist ready and collided it with Seth's face. Seth crumpled to the floor, groaning. Roman held his foot against Seth's throat and pressed down hard. Seth choked, desperate to breathe. His face was blood red.

"You're a fucking deviant," Roman growled.

Seth once again used his legs to his advantage, drawing his knee close to his face and lifting his foot straight up into Roman's groin. Roman keeled over, and Seth took in a sweet breath of air. Though delirious from the alcohol and momentary lack of oxygen, he was more determined to gain control of the fight. He wrapped an arm around Roman's throat from behind—the choker became the suffocated. Seth's grip was deathly. Roman's arms floundered, wondering how to strike Seth and get out of this. Seth wouldn't give him the advantage Seth had had over Roman twice; he brought his knees down and pinned Roman's legs to the floor. Roman was growing weak.

"SETH, STOP!" Dean shouted. "Let him go, you son of a bitch!"

"This is the way it's gonna be, Dean," Seth hissed. "Reigns out of the picture, and you and me…together…forever…and ever…"

Roman had an idea. He let out a sickened groan and slumped forward, feigning unconsciousness as though Rollins had knocked him out. Dean cried out, "RO!" as he allowed his body to slump to the floor, head leaning against the side of the bed.

Seth chuckled. "'Bout damn time. So much for Superman, eh?"

He retreated from the small bedroom for just a moment, fetching something. Dean heard a drawer open and the shuffling of silverware. He helplessly watched what he believed to be his unconscious Roman Reigns on the floor. "Roman," he choked out. "I need you. So much."

Seth returned. Even in the dark room, Dean caught a glint of faint light off the blade of a silver knife.

"So much for Superman," he said softly to himself, eyeing the blade like a grand prize.

He lowered himself beside Roman, knife up.

"SETH! NO!" Dean screamed, convulsing in the ropes.

Roman's arm came up, catching Seth's just as it came down.

Seth was baffled by the approach of the muscle. Roman didn't give him much time to be surprised. He twisted Seth's arm around, the blade facing him, and shoved it forward. Seth screamed out in agony as his own hand sank the blade into his chest, off to the side of his heart.

There was no resistance this time. Seth rolled onto his back, coughing, spurting out blood, as his shirt darkened with his blood.

Roman wrenched the knife out of Seth's chest, wiped the blood off of it with the blanket, then used the blade to cut through Dean's bondage.

Dean rubbed his wrists, then his eyes, then took in the sight of Seth with great wide eyes, face void of color.

"Fuck," Dean whispered.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm better now, Ro. Thanks."

Roman pulled Dean into his grip, strong arms wrapping themselves around Ambrose. Neither one of them seemed to be too concerned that Dean was still half-naked.

Blue and red lights flashed through the curtains over the window. Roman glanced at them and shivered with relief. "Guess Steph or Cesaro called the cops. Good call, I'd say, in hindsight."

Roman kept one arm firmly around Dean, towing him close to his side, past the fallen Seth Rollins and out the door.

Dean pulled his pants up before cops swarmed the area, checking on Seth and investigating the rest of the apartment. He was handed a blanket by paramedics, who'd also been summoned to the scene, and placed on the edge of an ambulance back during questioning. It was an exhausting process, and all Dean wanted to do was go to sleep.

With Roman close by.

Perhaps even in the same bed?

Roman was questioned as a witness. Neither were allowed to leave the scene quite yet. Dean accepted a trip to the hospital to check out the injury on his head left behind by the bottle. He asked one of the paramedics if Seth would live.

"We'll see," was the only answer the medic gave.

Roman sat at Dean's side, their legs touching. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, now. That was fucking crazy as hell, though, dude. I can't believe him—I mean, he's done some weird shit in his life, but that—didn't see it coming."

"I didn't, either. At least he's going to leave you alone now."

"What if he doesn't?" Dean licked his chapped lips. "What if he somehow recovers, gets away from the authority, comes after me again…?"

"He won't. But even if he did, it's all the more reason to protect you, my dear." Roman rubbed Dean's knee, finally getting the first smile he'd seen all night on his Ambrose's face. "As long as I'm here, nothing will ever happen to you." He leaned over to kiss Dean's hair, then replaced his hand around Dean's shoulder.

Dean leaned against the strong form of his Superman, believing it with all his heart.


End file.
